


too much to wear on your sleeves

by annberrysauce (conspirings)



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:09:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conspirings/pseuds/annberrysauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leslie puts together a paintball competition and forces April to pair up with Ann. Hijinks ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	too much to wear on your sleeves

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a ficathon with the prompt: Ann/April, Pawnee has a paintball competition and Ann/April end up having to team up.

There’s a government wide paintball competition today. Of course, it’s Leslie’s idea and of course, April knows nothing of it until Jerry opts out with a doctor’s note and she hears Leslie’s yelps from the conference room ( _damn it Jerry!_ ). She doesn’t even bother to care until said deputy tries to corral her into joining with a bout of disgusting cheer and gross, genuine excitement. It goes like this:

“It’ll be fun,” Leslie says, lowering her chin and giving April a look through her lashes, the one that says _you’ll end up doing what I want and you’ll learn a life lesson because life lessons are great!_ “You’ll get to shoot people!” She says instead, adding a grin to it.

April grimaces, hoping to deter the deputy with her patented death stare. “With paint.”

“Exactly.” Leslie beams.

And before April knows it, she’s on the steps of city hall, reluctantly geared up and ready to wage paint war.

 

But duh, because Leslie’s sense of humor is outrageous, she gets paired up with Ann Perkins.

“If I die and these are my dying words then I want you to know,” April says as she leans lazily against the back wall of a government building, listening to the ruckus on the other side. “Ann, I really don’t like you.”

Ann turns to gape at her, mouth wide and shoulders slumped. She still doesn’t know why Ann bothers with trying to be friends or whatever - as if, but April is too annoyed to care, not that she would care about anything having to do with Ann Perkins anyway. “Really, April? Really? You want your dying words to be: Ann, I really don’t like you?” 

She shrugs, stares at Ann’s lips and thinks about ending the game early by shooting the boring nurse in the mouth. At least the ensuing arrest and media storm would bring some color into Pawnee. “You’re right, they should be: Ann, I really, really don’t like you.”

“Real mature, April.”

“Your face is mature, Ann. Like old, that’s what I’m saying in case you don’t get it.”

April smirks when the color in Ann’s face drains, another victory for Team Suck-It-Ann-You-Suck.

 

Later, when Ann takes out Larry from the sewage department and April shoots Councilman Howser to show her up, it becomes something of a competition. It’s the most she’s liked Ann since that one time in the hospital, though she would never admit to liking Ann in any capacity, which she doesn’t. Maybe she is a little Impressed, but not even, really.

“Ben doesn’t even count, he was standing immobilized in fear plus he was an easy target with that star wars helmet on.”

April ignores her and ducks behind a garbage bin instead, Ann follows suit and she hates that too. “I shot Ben, I shot Ben and now Ben is dead so Ben counts. God Ann, stop trying to cheat.”

“I’m not trying to cheat and Ben is not dead.” A visible shiver runs down Ann’s spine. “And he didn’t count.”

“He c- DUCK!” April screams as a rogue government employee pops up from across the street, frantic with power, shooting in all directions with a rifle in each hand. Ann falls flat to the ground as April shoots him straight in the nut sack. He collapses as soon as the paintballs make impact.

When the metaphorical dust settles and April feels even more like a sufficient badass than usual, she looks down to see Ann peering through her arms shielding her head, wide eyed with surprise. “Thanks.” She mutters.

April shrugs and says lamely. “I didn’t want him to take you out before I could.”

April doesn’t like the way her explanations have started sounding like excuses, not at all.

“You look like that terminator lady, the one Leslie loves.” Ann says despite her comment, standing up and dusting the dirt off her jeans. 

So it suddenly becomes an unwanted partnership, because April’s life is starting to feel just like a continuous train of Ann Perkins-related tragedies.

 

April might not hate Ann. 

But the truth is April certainly does not like Ann, though she still feels obligated to hate her, even if maybe, she doesn’t anymore. And well, April could really use a drink right now, considering how Ann has been around way too much lately. Every time she turns a corner, Ann is there trying to make small talk and be friends or something gross like that. Even though April has called her by the wrong name on purpose several times now (she's even tried calling her Bob, just to garner some kind of reaction. Ann had only brushed it off, to April's chagrin). She thinks she may be building a boring nurse resistance, like maybe her body is reacting to Ann like a body would react to really boring, really annoying pain medication. That’s the only explanation.

 

They end up in a compromising position under Leslie’s desk because someone (read: Andy misfiring) shoots Donna’s Mercedes and she goes on a rampage screaming for vengeance and blood.

Ann’s arm is tucked neatly and rather painfully under April’s neck, while April lies crumbled with her back on the floor, breathing shallowly. If not for the footsteps they both strain to listen for, April would push Ann into a rotating fan and not let her breath into her right eyeball like she was doing now. 

The most grotesque part of all this, April thinks, is how she’s forced to smell Ann. As if being in her company was not enough torture to begin with, Ann actually smells clean and girly, like laundry and flowers and April wiggles a little beneath the weight of Ann’s chest forced up against her rib cage.

“Quit it!” The offensive being whispers, eyes flashing in the near darkness. And when did April even care to look into Ann’s eyes? She despises proximity. 

“You’re really heavy.” It’s a long shot but it’s better than admitting defeat, whatever that means. Ann’s eyes immediately narrow.

“God April, why is it that you don’t like me? Really? The whole Andy thing was 2 years ago.”

April squirms a little, not of her own volition or because Andy was brought up but because Ann has somehow managed to press deeper into her side. Gross. “Why would I like you? I don’t like people; you’re a person, at least according to Leslie. God Ann, did you even go to school?”

“Shut up.”

Naturally, she has to fight back. “You shut up.”

“No, you-“ And April kisses her, mostly to shut her up.

A small sound comes from the back of Ann’s throat, the one that currently has April’s tongue down it. Ann is a rock above her for the most part and her neck is starting to hurt from craning upwards but April finds the experience to be not disgusting, which is a problem in too many ways for her to deal with right at the moment. When she feels Ann relax into the kiss then pull away, April is not disappointed at all, even if the part where her heart is feels a bit like it’s falling.

“I had a gay boyfriend.” April blurts out when Ann looks like she’s about to say something, as if the situation wasn’t weird enough.

They stare at each other for a few quiet minutes, in which April notices Ann’s other hand has managed to snake around her waist, where it rests gently on her hip. It feels nice and it feels like something awful all at once.

Ann’s lips slowly form an o. “Oh.”

From down the hall, a set of heavy footfalls makes them both tense and April takes the opportunity to avoid inevitable realizations she really doesn't want to realize by yelling. “DONNA, IN HERE.”

Ann gasps and April smirks. 

The footsteps get closer.

Well, at least they don’t have to talk about it.


End file.
